The Directors: Trey Hill

Trey Hill is a filmmaker who cut his teeth as a photographer and one-man-band storyteller for non-profits and NGO’s, work which carried him around the world as he sought to expose the inner light present in some of the planet’s most overlooked people. But, he also spent 9 seasons in the NHL (as team photographer for the Dallas Stars) and has, for the better part of the last decade, directed campaigns for global brands, working with household names, musicians, sports heroes and politicians. In 2019, his feature-length debut, the documentary LOUD KRAZY LOVE about Korn’s Brian “Head” Welch, premiered on Showtime.

Name: Trey Hill

Location: Dallas, TX

Repped by: Daisy Cutter

Awards: LOUD KRAZY LOVE: Winner Audience Award @ Dallas International Film Festival & Grand Jury Nominee @ Nashville Film Festival

LBB> What elements of a script sets one apart from the other and what sort of scripts get you excited to shoot them?

Trey> Between directing gigs, I spend the bulk of my time writing; it is my first love. Whether something I’m writing or reading, I find myself drawn to the thematic underpinnings of the story. I love to search for ways to draw those elements out unexpectedly, relying on visual metaphor or unspoken character moments, to connect the audience—which in those early stages is just finding ways to satisfy my own taste—to the underlying heartbeat of the thing. When the lightbulb goes off, there’s really no better feeling.

LBB> How do you approach creating a treatment for a spot?

Trey> Back when I was a still photographer, people touted shooting personal work as the key to earning the jobs you really wanted. But I was young and had a family. I couldn’t afford to put time or money into things that weren’t playing my bills. So, I sort of flipped it. To me, all work had to be personal.

When I started directing, that mantra really came to life. For me, the way into everything I direct—spots, documentary or narrative—comes down to first identifying my connection to the project. I ask myself, “Why this? Why me?” And that informs my way in. From there, it just becomes fleshing out that connection as viscerally as possible.

I write all my own treatments. That’s a non-negotiable, for me. And, I design the vast majority of them. Treatment making is a massive part of my process. It’s a big risk to invest so much of myself before the client awards the job, but it’s the only way I know how to honestly answer those first two questions I ask myself.

LBB> If the script is for a brand that you're not familiar with/don’t have a big affinity with or a market you're new to, how important is it for you to do research and understand that strategic and contextual side of the ad? If it’s important to you, how do you do it?

Trey> I don’t really see strategy or context as separate from the creative. Agency creatives are so savvy that the majority of the work I see, the idea comes across like the fruit of its strategic origins.

But, I do try to understand those seeds, almost like a scientist. That’s a big part of finding my connection to the work is being able to understand why it exists, why it matters, why anyone should care or believe the brand’s message.

A while ago, I started using a tool called Notion to act as a second brain. I’m a big collector of stuff—reference images, quotes, nuggets of wisdom. All of that is keyword searchable. For each project, I build out a page as soon as I get creative that becomes my creative hub for each project. I built a questionnaire that I run through ahead of the call with the agency, like a self interview. That preparation helps me uncover not only the things within a spot that I connect with, but also identifies the places I get bumped out, or that scratch the record for me.

All of that material becomes talking points for the call. Regardless if I know the brand or not, I hope we hang up from that first conversation and think, “Wow, Trey was really prepared.” I’ve tried to build my identity as a director on my preparation.

How you do anything is how you do everything, right?

LBB> For you, what is the most important working relationship for a director to have with another person in making an ad? And why?

Trey> Twenty years ago, I sold cars and Brenden Morrow, then the captain of the Dallas Stars, came into the dealership. I was a big fan and he was so kind to me. A couple years later, the team contracted me to be their photographer. Guess who had to approve my requests to go into the locker room and ride on the team plane? The captain. When he retired, he personally invited me to his retirement press conference.

I have so many stories like this. I met my executive producer, Brett Cassel, when he was production manager on a job I directed. Today, I count him as one of my closest friends.

I believe that every single person on a job matters and, as a director, it’s my job to help connect them to their purpose, which is to help me fulfill my purpose. We need each other. We were made for each other. 

On the other side of set, at video village, it’s the same thing. I want the client and the agency to know I am present with them every time we’re together. My friend Jon Lee says, “there are no more important people.” I think my creative life proves that.

LBB> What type of work are you most passionate about - is there a particular genre or subject matter or style you are most drawn to?

Trey> Someone once told me there are three kinds of directors: funny, pretty pictures, and make you cry. I am a pretty pictures guy, who’d love to make you cry. So, that’s the bulk of the work that comes my way.

But, what lights me up, what I find myself pressing into lately, is character. I don’t get a lot of dialogue work (even though I would love to do that!), but I find myself probing the work for character motivation, writing backstories, really diving in to the thematic undercurrent of the work. Because, otherwise, the actors are just mannequins that move; I want to find ways to make the audience believe us.

LBB> What misconception about you or your work do you most often encounter and why is it wrong?

Trey> I mentioned a minute ago that I don’t get a lot of dialog work. Why? Because I don’t have dialog work on the reel. There’s a tendency to pigeonhole directors in general. 

I think the work ultimately suffers when people hiring fall into this trap of wanting to see their spot on the reel. Most director’s I know possess impressive range. I often joke that I shoot everything from kids to cars. You wouldn’t think a sheet metal director would have the skillset to get a performance out of a child. 

When you limit me—or any director, for that matter—to “pretty picture guy who might make you cry,” you miss out on the magic, the sense of discovery, that the creative life is supposed to be about.

LBB> Have you ever worked with a cost consultant and if so how have your experiences been?

Trey> I’m aware they exist. Yes, we’ve worked with several, but thank whoever needs the gratitude that people shield me from money conversations.

LBB> What’s the craziest problem you’ve come across in the course of a production – and how did you solve it?

Trey> Several years ago, I directed all the spots for Salvation Army’s Red Kettle campaign. We had to shoot before Thanksgiving and the creative called for snow. So, we went to Minneapolis… where it was warmer on the shoot day than at home in Texas.

So, each morning, our production designer would take a box truck to every hockey rink in the city and shovel the Zamboni scrape into the back and have it to set by call time. That and a few potato flakes and we turned an unseasonably warm Minneapolis into a winter wonderland.

LBB> How do you strike the balance between being open/collaborative with the agency and brand client while also protecting the idea?

Trey> I’ve done a lot of therapy in my life. One of the best lessons to come out of that process is the simple idea that “the cause is not the cause unless I make the cause the cause.” I can’t control the agency or the client or the audibles inherent to production. I do control how I respond.

I have a few rules: tell the truth, the process is the product, and the obstacle is the way. These keep me in balance, which then helps me keep the world outside of me in perspective.

LBB> What are your thoughts on opening up the production world to a more diverse pool of talent? Are you open to mentoring and apprenticeships on set?

Trey> Yes. It needs to happen. But, most of the methods I see being implemented have the unintended consequence of creating a creative ghetto for underrepresented artist. 

I think people mean well with their programs, but I cringe when I see “We would love to work with a director from an underrepresented background,” followed by, “Budget on production for this is scrappy.” That’s from an actual email that went out on behalf of a massive brand.

I mean, “we have no money, let’s hire a young minority director to do it,” is an atrociously bad approach that’s only perpetuating the problem. If you want to treat the underrepresented artist well, take the risk and hire them. Then PAY THEM what you’d pay anyone else.

I love the idea of creative mentorships and apprenticeships, but I don’t think they can substitute for brands hiring talented people and paying them to do the job.

LBB> How do you feel the pandemic is going to influence the way you work into the longer term? Have you picked up new habits that you feel will stick around for a long time?

Trey> I love philosophy. In particular, the Stoic’s—like Marcus Aurelius and Epictetus—mean a great deal to me. Through them, I’ve learned the art of Memento Mori, which helps connect one to their mortality, to an awareness there will be a last time for everything.

The pandemic was a global, shared Memento Mori exercise. Through it, I learned to approach everything as if it were the last time. It’s weird to say that because of a deadly virus I am more grateful, but I really am. 

There were days when I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be on set again. Or, if I got back, how the job I love doing would change. Thankfully, I don’t think the work has changed at all, but I have. And, I think the lessons I learned in those dark days have made me a more present, patient and appreciative person.

LBB> Your work is now presented in so many different formats - to what extent do you keep each in mind while you're working (and, equally, to what degree is it possible to do so)?

Trey> I find it nearly impossible to think about the myriad crops and formats that may be necessary at some point in the future while on set. Prep is the time to plan for those contingencies, not on set. On set, the focus needs to be on performance, on composition, on the things that are essential to communicating the message.

LBB> What’s your relationship with new technology and, if at all, how do you incorporate future-facing tech into your work (e.g. virtual production, interactive storytelling, AI/data-driven visuals etc)?

Trey> I’m aware of it in the same way that a racing driver understands the latest model of their race car, but also believe the nut behind the wheel is the most important factor to winning a race.

Technology offers us tools, but if the tool supersedes the idea, or overshadows the process, it detracts from, rather than adds to the work.

LBB> Which pieces of work do you feel really show off what you do best – and why? (Please upload 4 videos to your company archive).

Trey> America The Beautiful: this spot, which I wrote and directed, played in Alamo Drafthouse theaters around the U.S. highlights my knack for leveraging genuine performances and my portrait photography sensibilities in crafting a heartfelt message.

Rebellious Ways: when Ram launched their multifunction tailgate, we were able to blend my knack for shooting dynamic, aggressive running footage with technical lifestyle concept—and pulled it off while battling fairly extreme weather.

From Protest to Progress: on the heels of Colin Kaepernick bringing the injustice of the criminal justice system into the spotlight, the Dallas Cowboys Dak Prescott wanted to take action in his adopted home town. Together, we helped assemble an impressive coalition of partners who could enact change, I was able to facilitate a dynamic group discussion and lean into my documentary filmmaking background to craft compelling films intended to create meaningful change.

Little Hands: to celebrate the 20th anniversary of the Home Depot’s kid’s workshops, I directed two crews and casts as we shot dozens of kids in a single day of production. One of those actors, Julian Hilliard (in his first-ever role) went on to play Billy Maximoff in WandaVision.